


Losers Weekend

by unrealitycheck



Series: Ding Dong, the Clown is Dead (But Eddie and Stan are Just Fine) [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie’s life is so hard, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Stanley Uris Lives, Weddings, domestic partnerships, the truth behind Eddie’s cashew allergy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrealitycheck/pseuds/unrealitycheck
Summary: “You never told us you got MARRIED!” Beverly yelled into his ear.For an impossibly long moment, Eddie had no words. Not a single one. He had never walked out into a crowded street in only his underwear, but if he ever did, it would probably feel similar to the way he felt now.“Bev,” he said slowly, hating the way his hand had started to sweat around the phone. “I’m not married. I divorced Myra ages ago, remember?”“Of course I know that! I’m talking about you and Richie!”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Ding Dong, the Clown is Dead (But Eddie and Stan are Just Fine) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600483
Comments: 11
Kudos: 229





	Losers Weekend

Eddie had _just_ finished walking the dog when his phone started to frantically vibrate.

Beverly's name flashed on the screen. This was no surprise, since she told him just that morning—maybe an hour ago—that Ben had asked her to marry him, which was _also_ no surprise. Ben had spent the last couple of months bouncing proposal ideas off of every one of the Losers, though his efforts had been wasted on Eddie, who never got the chance to actually _propose_ to Myra. It was more like she kept hovering around him, dropping hints about making it official, until he finally gave in and said _Okay, Myra_ and next thing he knew, he was sweating down the aisle in a badly-fitting suit, fighting the urge to use his inhaler in the middle of the ceremony.

But based on Beverly's reaction, her engagement had gone much more smoothly than Eddie's had. Now that she'd had an hour to process the whole thing, she was probably calling back to get a full list of Eddie's food sensitivities, allergies, and strict diet concerns, in order to avoid summoning a paramedic to the reception. Eddie let the phone vibrate, hastily put away Mercedes' leash and collar, then let Mercedes loose into the backyard while he accepted the call.

"Eddie!" Beverly exclaimed the moment he answered. She sounded like her hair was on fire.

Which was... wait a minute. That wasn't like her at all. _Eddie_ was usually the one who called her in a panic.

"I can't believe this!" Beverly continued. " _All_ this time and you never told us!"

"Never told you what?" said Eddie. He suddenly had a very Bad Feeling—the one he used to associate with rotting lepers and evil clowns lurking around every corner. "If Richie wants you to think I've developed a new allergy to a food that _he_ doesn't like, don't believe him. He almost convinced Bill I was allergic to salad the other week, when we went to his place for dinner—"

"You never told us you got MARRIED!" Beverly yelled into his ear.

For an impossibly long moment, Eddie had no words. Not a single one. He had never walked out into a crowded street in only his underwear, but if he ever did, it would probably feel similar to the way he felt now.

"Bev," he said slowly, hating the way his hand had started to sweat around the phone. "I'm not married. I divorced Myra ages ago, remember?"

"Of course I know that! I'm talking about you and Richie!"

" _What?_ Who told you that? Are the tabloids spreading rumors?"

"It wasn't the tabloids. I was chatting with Richie just now! I mentioned that me and Ben would be having the first official Losers wedding, and then Richie, well—he corrected me. I don't think he meant to! It just slipped out, I guess."

"What the hell did he _say?_ "

"Well, he said something like, _Sorry, Bev, looks like me and Eds already beat you in that race!_ and then he tried to back out of it by pretending it was a joke. And when I tried to press him for more details, he finally said, _Eddie's going to kill me_ and hung up. Which can only mean that _you_ got married and never told us!"

"Okay, first of all, Bev— _first of all—_ we did _not_ get married! It was a domestic partnership, which is an entirely different matter in a court of law!"

"Fine, you never told us you're in a domestic partnership. Why would you keep that a secret?"

"Because it wasn't a big deal!"

"Of course it's a big deal. Eddie, you and Richie made a _huge_ commitment to each other and never even mentioned it to any of your friends. You know we would have supported you."

Oh, God. Now Beverly sounded hurt and Eddie felt like the biggest jerk on the face of the earth. He couldn't even be mad at Richie for spilling the secret. If Richie had had his way, the story would have been spread weeks ago to their friends, neighbors, and every major tabloid in America, but Eddie wanted to keep it quiet. _Eddie_ was a fucking coward.

He sank down onto the nearest couch, preparing himself for a long conversation.

"I know you guys would have supported it, Bev. That's not what kept me from telling you. I mean it when I say the whole thing was really _not_ a big deal. In fact, it was probably the least romantic partnership ever formed." Eddie took a breath, realized he was still sweating all over his phone (which he disinfected daily), and switched it to his other hand. "This is going to break Ben's heart when he finds out, but it's true. There was very little romance involved. We only did it so Richie could get on my health insurance."

Health insurance in America, as Eddie had discovered over the years, was _completely_ insane. Back in New York, for instance, he had been on this weird, restrictive health plan that didn't provide any benefits for out-of-state health services. So if Eddie saw a doctor anywhere outside the state of New York, the insurance would say, _Nope, sorry, we're not covering ANY of that!_ and Eddie would get stuck paying the entire bill.

Myra had insisted he select this restrictive plan and Eddie did it without question. It had been a dark time in his life when he always tried to avoid questioning things too much. He suspected that Myra wanted to make sure he never traveled very far, in one of her many efforts to keep him safe.

Her efforts definitely worked. The whole time he was married to her, Eddie never went anywhere. No vacations, no weekend trips. Traveling to work every morning was the most adventure he ever got, and even _that_ was permitted reluctantly. (Myra had begged him countless times to ask his boss if he could work from home.) For the most part, Eddie tried not to _think_ too much about the cage he had willingly built around himself. Better to stay in that cage than risk worrying Myra, who genuinely believed that Eddie needed to be protected.

But of course, his return to Derry changed all of that. _Richie_ changed all of that.

After the divorce, Eddie dropped Myra from his health plan and agreed to move in with Richie. He decided to keep the same job—with the same company, for the sake of convenience—and transitioned to the Los Angeles office. This transition brought him more freedom than he had ever known before. When the enrollment period for health benefits opened up, he selected the plan that _he_ wanted, without all the restrictions from the old plan.

It took him months to realize that he was the only one who ever received doctor bills and insurance statements.

Which wasn't _that_ unusual, since Richie hardly ever got sick, but when tax season came around and Eddie had to gather every scrap of important paperwork, he discovered the horrifying truth.

Richie did not have health insurance.

Richie never went to the fucking _doctor_. Ever.

This was unacceptable. Richie could be _dying_ and not even know it! Eddie made a frantic call to Richie's manager, who informed him that yes, Richie did have the option to elect health benefits, but unfortunately the enrollment period had passed. Which was bullshit. Richie was an entertainer. That wasn't even a _real_ job! But apparently the entertainment business, for all its superficiality, abided by the same health benefit rules that the rest of the workforce had to follow.

There was no fucking way Eddie was going to let Richie recklessly live without medical care. Which left Richie with the following options:

1\. Go to the doctor without insurance and pay thousands of dollars in medical bills.

2\. Borrow Eddie's insurance card. (This was Richie's idea, which Eddie immediately vetoed, because _that_ was considered healthcare fraud!)

3\. Live in a plastic bubble for the rest of his life.

4\. Get married to Eddie.

The last option was the most reasonable, but also the most terrifying. Eddie _knew_ he had absolutely no intention of packing up and leaving Richie anytime ever, so they might as well seal the deal, but he had also recently gone through one hell of a divorce. Maybe he just wasn't _meant_ to be married, even to the right person. Life with Richie was never perfect, but Eddie was actually happy for the first time in years, and he was terrified that taking things a step further might shatter the whole thing.

Probably an irrational fear, but when you literally spend twenty-seven years with fear lodged inside you like an undetected parasite, the very idea of wedding rings could be paralyzing.

"So we did the domestic partnership," Eddie explained to Beverly. "Not as scary as marriage, but with similar benefits."

" _Eddie_ ," Beverly sighed at him. "You could have gotten married again! Same-sex marriage is legal in California, isn't it? In case you've somehow forgotten, _I'm_ divorced too, but it hasn't stopped me from giving marriage another shot."

"You've always had more balls than me, Bev. More balls than _all_ of us."

"Not really. Not when I was with Tom."

Eddie's heart froze in his chest. Beverly hardly ever mentioned Tom, but the way she pronounced his name carried the same dread Eddie felt when Mike called him back to Derry. He wondered if he sounded that way when talking about his mother.

"You're still braver than me, going through the whole experience of a second wedding," said Eddie. "Last time _I_ got married, I discovered my deadly cashew allergy and spent my wedding night in the hospital. Myra wouldn't leave my bedside and sat there all night in her poofy white dress. Every time I opened my eyes, I thought she was a ghost."

The ghost of his mother, to be exact. It should have been a clear indication that Eddie's marriage was a _huge_ mistake that needed to be rectified immediately.

"So that's why you act so jumpy around cashews," said Beverly.

"I hired a vegan caterer for the wedding and thought I specified no nuts of any kind, but there was cashew butter in one of the appetizers. I found out too late. Richie thinks it was just nerves that made my throat close up and _maybe_ he's right, but you can't know that for sure..."

Eddie trailed off as an ominous sound reached his ears: the soft tread of footsteps in the distance.

Irma, the part-time maid, appeared with a laundry basket in her arms. Judging from all the loud colors and patterns, she had just finished cleaning up Richie's room. Irma seemed oblivious to Eddie's presence, probably due to her ever-present earbuds, and soon vanished into the laundry room.

Oh, shit. _Shit._

Eddie had forgotten all about the maid. She was in the house the whole time, wasn't she? Probably just _pretending_ to listen to music while she ate up the whole conversation.

He had suspected for months that Irma was secretly running a celebrity gossip blog. He didn't have any proof, but if his relationship status ended up on TMZ in the next few hours, he would finally have all the proof he needed.

"Bev, can you give me a moment?" said Eddie. "I need to step outside for some air."

And hopefully some privacy. The backyard was spacious, which would hopefully put a large enough buffer zone between Eddie and the neighbors. The moment he stepped into the yard, Mercedes came tearing across the grass, yapping at him excitedly, so Eddie put the phone to her mouth so she could yap at Beverly too. His Pomeranian was fucking adorable and he was not afraid to let the whole universe know it.

Once she was done cooing over Mercedes, Beverly got right to business.

"You know I'll have to tell Ben the whole story," she informed Eddie. "And he's not going to take it well. Ben loves weddings and you robbed him of a really good one."

"It wasn't a wedding, Bev. Remember? It was a financially-driven arrangement that involved paperwork and signatures. All incredibly boring."

"Not to Ben. He would have found some romance in there somewhere."

"Tell Ben I'm very sorry," said Eddie, remembering too late that he forgot to grab his sunglasses. Hopefully the sun's rays couldn't _poison_ him through the table-umbrella on the back patio. "And I'm sorry to you, too. I mean it, Bev. I feel like a real dick. I just—I wanted something that's mine and Richie's and no one else's. I'm not used to fame. I don't _like_ fame, but you can't date Richie without worrying about paparazzi and tabloids and all this other crazy bullshit. _That's_ why we kept the partnership a secret. I just wanted, for as long as I can have it, _one_ thing that's fucking private."

"Fair enough, Eddie. You're forgiven. But I _am_ going to tell Ben, who will probably tell Mike, who will tell Bill, who will tell Stan, so I hope you have the energy for a lot of apologies."

Eddie hoped so too. As soon as he got off the phone with Beverly, he sent Richie a text message:

_Just so you know I'm not mad at you. I promise! Some tabloid would have spilled everything sooner or later. Those bastards find out everything. Can you pick up dog food on the way home? If not I will get some tonight._

There. Hopefully that would would reassure Richie, who was currently headed to a birthday party two hours away. Having successfully rebranded himself after coming out of the closet, Richie had been having lots of meetings with executives about the _very_ real possibility of a Netflix series. One of those big shot executives insisted Richie perform at his brother's birthday party in Palm Springs, so Eddie was prepared to spend his Saturday alone with the dog. And the maid, who normally didn't work on Saturdays, but she asked for some extra hours and Eddie gave them to her, not expecting to blab all about his top-secret domestic partnership while she was in the house.

But if Irma didn't leak it to the tabloids, _someone_ surely would. Richie carried an insurance card with Eddie's name on it, after all. Any receptionist in a doctor's office who knew Richie's name would take one look at that card, realize Eddie was the policy holder, and put two and two together. If this ever happened, Richie was supposed to give the receptionist his autograph in exchange for her silence, but Richie was _Richie_ and there was no guarantee he would actually follow through with this. Eddie was honestly surprised they had managed to keep their secret for a month and a half.

Fifteen minutes after he headed back inside, Mercedes trotting at his heels, Eddie's phone buzzed loudly with a text. He assumed it was Richie, who had _better_ not be texting while driving or Eddie would really have something to be mad about.

The text came from Ben.

_Heard about your change in status Eddie. Congrats! Only wish you had invited us to celebrate such a big moment with you. :( It's not too late to have a ceremony!_

Great. Eddie could practically _feel_ Ben's soft little marshmallow heart crumbling to pieces. (He owed that mental image to Richie, who always said that Ben was a Greek god on the outside and a marshmallow on the inside.)

He was trying to think of a reply that wouldn't make him sound like _too_ much of an asshole when his phone buzzed several more times.

It was Ben again, sending him pictures of various beaches, most of them featuring thatched-roof gazebos, lush palm trees, and hotel resorts in the background. Ben's final message said:

_Beach wedding?????_

Eddie hesitantly typed back, _For you and Beverly?_

_For you and Richie!_

_Thanks Ben but I don't need a wedding. You have your own upcoming marriage to worry about._

_I'm willing to put my own wedding plans on hold if you will at least let us throw you a party. With maybe a small ceremony? :)_

How in the world could Eddie say no to Ben? How could _anyone_ say no to Ben? Beverly must have been rendered powerless when he proposed to her.

_Ben I know you have wedding fever and I respect that. Really. But I prefer to keep everything quiet._

_Of course!!! :)_ Ben replied, somehow managing to convey warmth and fuzziness through text message. _We would throw you a private ceremony! No tabloid reporters allowed. I'm going to keep bugging you until you say yes!_

_You don't want to test my stubbornness. It took me 40 years just to admit to MYSELF that I'm gay._

Ben responded with another beach photo. The pure blue water was so beautiful it hurt.

But _not_ beautiful enough to sway Eddie's refusal. He didn't want anyone—not even his closest friends—making such a fuss over him. No parties. No ceremonies. No fancy hotels on a gorgeous beach. He just wanted to go to sleep at night knowing that Richie had proper health insurance and actually _went_ to the fucking doctor for once in his life. (How in the world did Richie manage to survive so many years without Eddie, anyway? _How?_ )

Just as Beverly predicted, Mike was the next person to contact Eddie.

Eddie was in the middle of making a green smoothie (the closest he ever came to cooking), when his phone buzzed again. Mike had written him a fucking book:

_Sounds like somebody tied the knot. Congratulations! No hard feelings about keeping it a secret. I understand. But you should keep an open mind about a wedding party! You and Richie have both been through a lot and you deserve a celebration. If you're interested in traveling I know a nice place in Florida where we could hold a quiet party. But it's entirely up to you! Congrats again and take care. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you!_

Poor Mike was probably dying for more chances to get the Losers all together. Eddie had a _really_ hard time politely declining his offer of a Florida party.

Irma came into the kitchen to do the dishes, still wearing her earbuds, when Bill's message arrived:

_Wow. Just got the news. Can't believe you guys got married and thought you'd keep it a secret! I've known you since we were eight Eddie. Come on. I'm happy for you though!_

Leave it to Bill to sound like he was scolding Eddie and congratulating him at the same time.

Also, Eddie really wished everyone would stop saying he and Richie were married. They were... domestic partnered? Was that what you called it?

He expected the next message to come from Stan, but instead it was from Richie, who had apparently stopped driving some time ago.

_This party fucking sucks. Be glad you're not here. Ben keeps sending pics of beaches and shit but I told him it's a bad idea. You'd get sand in your eye and start freaking out._

_Sand is no joke_ , Eddie replied. _It gets EVERYWHERE._

 _Yeah I told Ben to pick someplace indoors with top marks in health inspection,_ Richie typed back. _He's not going to give up on this wedding shit so we might as well go with it right?_

Eddie spent a solid minute staring at Richie's text, trying to read between the lines. It was hard enough when talking to Richie face-to-face, and with text message it was like trying to decipher a secret code. On the surface, Richie's message seemed casual and dismissive of Ben's offer to throw them a wedding, which immediately put Eddie on guard. Richie acted casual and dismissive about plenty of things, usually when he didn't want you to know that he actually cared those things a _lot_. It was possible Richie's whole _yeah, whatever, let's go with it_ attitude was genuine, and he really didn't give a shit about the wedding, but then again, maybe not. Maybe Richie _wanted_ a party and a ceremony and everything, but he insisted on being vague because even after months of finally being himself, Richie still hid most of his feelings out of habit.

Eddie couldn't blame him for this. They had both spent so many years repressing and denying and fearing who they were, it was a fucking miracle they had come this far.

He was careful typing his response to Richie:

_After you get home we'll talk this over. Okay?_

And he left it at that.

Surprisingly, there was still no message from Stan. Eddie knew there was no _way_ somebody hadn't told him by now. This was a prime opportunity for Stan to say something sarcastic, like, _My condolences, Eddie. I know a great therapist if you need one._ But Stan hadn't said a word.

Eddie tried not to let it bother him. He didn't _need_ everyone's opinion on his relationship status. Stan was probably busy—having a quiet good time with Patty, no doubt—and would send his reaction when he was good and ready.

But when an hour slipped by, Eddie admitted that he _wanted_ Stan's reaction, in the hope that it would bring a little sanity to this crazy situation. Surely _Stan_ would think that throwing a wedding for a domestic partnership that happened weeks ago was complete nonsense.

Eddie finally broke down and called him.

Irma had left at this point, so Eddie didn't have to worry about holing up in a sound-proof corner of the house. He _did_ have to worry about his hand sweating all over the phone again, though. (What was up with that? Maybe he should undelete his WebMD app and take a quick peek at his symptoms, just to make sure it was nerves and not the early sign of a horrible disease.)

"Hi, Eddie," said Stan, sounding perfectly calm as he answered the phone. "I heard Richie started quite a storm in Loserville today."

Eddie managed an anxious laugh. "Yeah, you could definitely call it that. I've already apologized to everyone else for keeping such a big secret, so I figured I'd say sorry to you too."

"Don't worry about it. Richie told me weeks ago."

"Wait, he—Oh, God, of course he did. He swore he wouldn't tell anyone!"

"In Richie's defense, I think he just _really_ needed to tell someone, so he chose me because he knew I'd keep quiet. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who knew until today."

"And now everyone knows and they're all pushing for a wedding," said Eddie. "Ben's been flooding my inbox with emails about destinations and caterers and all this _stuff_ I don't want. Am I crazy for not wanting a wedding, Stan? I already _had_ one wedding and it ended in a messy divorce. I just want to keep things quiet and simple and hope that at some point, the universe will finally start leaving me alone."

"I think all of us hope for that," said Stan. "We've been through literal hell. You can't really blame Ben and the others for wanting to celebrate something."

"So you think I should say yes to the wedding."

"I didn't say that. I understand where you're coming from _and_ I understand where the others are coming from, but the decision's up to you and Richie. Does Richie want a wedding?"

"I have no idea. We barely talked about it. He sent me this text that I've been trying to decode for the last hour. You know how Richie is. No matter how close I get to him, I still can't figure out what he's thinking most of the time."

"No one can figure out Richie. When we first met in kindergarten, I thought he came from outer space."

 _Like It_ , Eddie almost said, stopping himself just in time. That was still a touchy subject with Stan. It probably always would be.

"I know Richie wouldn't say no to a wedding if Ben pushed it on him," said Eddie. "He would have gone public about the whole partnership thing if it wasn't for me. I was the one who insisted we keep it private, because—I don't know—I was afraid of a little more publicity? I'm still traumatized by my wedding to Myra? The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it is that I made a huge life decision and didn't tell my fucking friends. I mean, you guys are my _family_. You should have been here."

Why didn't he see it earlier? He had been selfish, keeping such an important event to himself. Beverly was right. It might have been a partnership founded on healthcare necessity, but it was still a big fucking deal.

Eddie sighed, knowing he had been defeated by his own guilt. "You guys should _still_ be here. All of you are right. It would be nice to get together and actually _celebrate_ something."

"Did I single-handedly get Eddie Kaspbrak to change his mind?" said Stan, voice as dry as the desert.

"Don't rub it in," said Eddie. "I still have to talk things over with Richie."

"As if Richie would pass up the opportunity to be the center of attention. Now that the cat's out of the bag about this whole thing, let me offer you my condolences, Eddie. You've got a rough life ahead of you."

"Thanks, Stan."

"Anytime."

*

The first thing Richie said, when Eddie broke the news, was, "Okay, great. Let's do this. But only if I get to wear an orange suit like Jim Carrey in _Dumb and Dumber_."

And Eddie almost freaked out because he honestly wasn't _sure_ if Richie was joking or not.

"I'm putting Beverly in charge of the wardrobe," said Eddie. "You will take what she gives you."

Beverly was more than happy to accept this task, despite the fact that she literally _just_ got engaged and should be worrying about her own shit. Eddie didn't know what he did to deserve such generous friends.

Ben stopped sending pictures of beaches and hotels when Eddie informed him that yes, they could go ahead and have the party, but it would be simple and quiet and at _home_. This was the only surefire way to keep it safe from the media. Eddie knew he couldn't keep things private forever. One of these days (possibly with Irma's help), TMZ was going to snoop around and publish some bullshit article like, _Trashmouth Weds Childhood Crush,_ and the whole thing would get worse before it got better, but he was willing to put this off as long as possible. People at work already bothered him enough about his life with Richie, always asking for autographs and behind-the-scenes info and shit. He shuddered at the thought of what _Myra_ would do once she heard the news.

During the weeks following the divorce, Myra did nothing but pester him. _Are you taking all your medicines, Eddie? Are you driving carefully out there, Eddie? I heard L.A.'s nothing but traffic! Are you protecting yourself from SMOG, Eddie? The smog is supposed to be terrible there!_

It was like she couldn't accept the fact that Eddie was no longer her responsibility. Over the last few months, she had gotten better about her clinginess and started to back off, but news of Eddie's not-quite-remarriage might trigger her all over again. Myra had made it all-too-clear that she did not approve of Richie. Which was—well, kind of understandable. Richie was not the kind of person you could just _take home_ to your parents and expect instant approval. Myra's disapproval was so strong, she couldn't even bring herself to speak Richie's name, always calling him _that comedian_ instead.

(Weirdly enough, this was exactly how Eddie's mother treated Richie when they were kids, only she called him _that boy_ in her iciest voice. Eddie chose to dwell on this similarity as little as possible. It always made his skin crawl in the creepiest fucking way.)

Long story short, if Eddie was actually going to put up with this wedding nonsense, it would be in the safety of his own house. It occurred to Eddie, as everyone consulted their schedules and ordered their plane tickets, that this would be the first time all seven Losers would be together since Derry. He and Richie met with Bill pretty often, since Bill only lived half an hour away, and Richie made sure to do comedy shows in Chicago, Atlanta, and Miami so he could catch up with the rest of their friends. It wasn't the same as having _all_ of them gathered in one place, though. Mike probably couldn't hop on his plane fast enough. He kept sending Eddie texts, about two to three times a day, checking to make sure Eddie hadn't cancelled. He tried to be subtle about it, but Eddie could detect the anxiety beneath Mike's casual inquiry of, _So what does gluten-free wedding cake taste like? Hope to find out!_ (Unlike Richie, Mike's messages were not an exercise in codebreaking.)

There _was_ going to be a cake, since Ben insisted, but Eddie would have to be careful when ordering it. He couldn't just hit up the gluten-free bakery and ask for a _wedding_ cake if he wanted to keep things secret. It wasn't even a wedding, anyway. Technically it would be a _commitment ceremony_ , as Eddie kept reminding his friends, but no one listened when he preached about hand sanitizer and no one listened to this either.

To avoid arguments (and also to throw off suspicion from outside parties), he decided to place emphasis on the Losers all gathering together. He was calling it "Losers Weekend." This was the code name everyone was supposed to use on social media, in public places, and—in Eddie and Richie's case—within earshot of Irma.

Richie thought all the secrecy was hilarious. He turned the whole thing into a joke, because of course he fucking did, by pretending he and Eddie were mobsters like in _Goodfellas_ and _The Sopranos_ , and that Irma and the paparazzi were "the Feds." He'd put on this stupid mobster accent right in front of the maid and ask Eddie if he ordered the "golf clubs"—Richie's code word for champagne.

Which was really fucking ridiculous, if you asked Eddie. Golf clubs sounded _so_ much weirder than champagne. Irma knew they didn't play golf. If she _was_ writing a celebrity gossip blog (Eddie still wasn't convinced otherwise), Richie was providing her with some excellent material.

Eddie suspected that Richie was being difficult because Beverly had chosen a nice, tasteful, _black_ suit for him.

"What about the tie?" Richie asked. "Can I at least have stripes or some fucking polka dots on the—"

"No," Eddie told him, and that was that.

*

Everybody flew in to L.A. on a Friday. The so-called Losers Weekend party would be held on Saturday. On Sunday, everyone would board their flights, probably hungover from all the "golf clubs" Eddie ordered, and life would go on the same as before, except Eddie would no longer feel like such a dick for keeping a secret from his friends.

But first, before he could do _anything_ else, Eddie had to call his insurance so he could yell at them for denying Richie's second annual wellness visit. Yeah, okay, he _understood_ that his plan only covered one physical exam per calendar year, but Richie was a special case. He didn't see a fucking doctor for twenty years! The man needed one physical exam per _month!_

Eddie made sure to yell at the insurance in front of Richie, who got weirdly excited whenever Eddie threw a fit at total strangers on the phone. Apparently Richie had been getting off on that kind of shit since they were kids. Eddie was definitely not going to question it.

"—and if you don't reconsider, I guarantee you will be hearing from my lawyer!" Eddie finished, wishing he wasn't on a cell phone so he could _slam_ down the receiver.

"Shit," said Richie. "That is the hottest fucking thing I've heard since the first time your mom spoke to me."

"Really, Richie? You've got to ruin it with a mom joke? Do you not realize what a mood killer that is? I swear, if we go through whatever bullshit ceremony Ben's got planned and you mention _anything_ about my mom, I'm going to smash your face into the cake."

"I don't know, Eddie, it's going to be _really_ hard not to mention your mom," said Richie. "I mean, if I hadn't divorced her, you wouldn't be where you are today."

"My mom is in the _ground!_ "

They bickered for what felt like another hundred years (probably closer to five minutes), until the scar on Eddie's cheek began to ache because he couldn't help laughing at Richie, even when he _should_ be angry with him. Eddie might claim that the whole domestic partnership was based on healthcare needs, and therefore no big deal, but he knew that wasn't true. He never would have gone through with it, no matter how badly he wanted Richie to see a fucking doctor, if he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to live like _this_ always.

Ben, Beverly, and Mike arrived at the house within the next couple of hours. They would be spending the night with Eddie and Richie, to save everyone the trouble of finding hotel rooms, while Stan and Patty stayed at Bill and Audra's house.

Eddie never intended to include Patty and Audra, but he really _couldn't_ say no when Stan and Bill asked if their wives could join the party. He was afraid this would make things awkward for Mike—the only one not part of a couple—but these fears dissolved once Mercedes decided that Mike was her new favorite person. Mike jokingly called her his "date to the wedding" and kept her entertained while Ben and Beverly attacked Eddie with party preparations.

Losers Weekend got started with the following memorable incidents:

1\. Beverly insisted on seeing Richie's closet, then immediately swore she would replace his entire wardrobe if it was the last thing she ever did.

2\. Mercedes thought it would be fun to dig Mike's deodorant, toothpaste, and shaving cream out of his travel bag. Richie took one look at the deodorant and told Mike, "I _knew_ you were an Old Spice guy."

3\. Ben got offended (or at least as offended as _Ben_ could possibly get) because Eddie didn't know the difference between *NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys. (How in the world could anyone tell the difference? They were identical. _Identical!_ )

4\. Everyone agreed that balloons were a terrible idea and should be strictly forbidden from the party, along with any other parties they chose to have in the future.

5\. Irma was given the day off, since Eddie couldn't risk any outsiders in the house. Mike was more than happy to take over her duties and proved that he could cook, do laundry, and wash dishes like a pro.

6\. Ben assembled a fucking _archway_ in the backyard because he insisted that ceremonies should always have archways. It was white and looked incredibly wedding-ish. Eddie desperately hoped it would not be captured on Google Maps.

"Is it really _that_ important to keep everything top-secret?" Ben asked once Eddie had finished his Google Maps rant. "How bad can it be?"

"Eddie's just terrified of his crazy ex-wife finding out he prefers my dick on a permanent basis," said Richie.

They were all seated around the dining room, eating a lunch of grilled salmon and vegetables that Mike had expertly whipped up.

"First of all, that is far too much information," said Mike. "Thank you, Richie. Second, is Myra really that terrible? I thought she's been backing off lately."

"She has," said Eddie, hoping his eyes were playing tricks on him and he did _not_ catch Richie slipping fish to Mercedes under the table. "But she still keeps hoping that one of these days, I'll come to my senses and return to New York. If Myra finds out about the partnership, she'll realize it's final. She's never getting me back. And I don't know how well she's going to take that."

"If the Empire State Building blows up anytime soon, we'll all know why," said Richie.

"Beep beep, Richie," said Ben. "I still think you should let yourself relax a little, Eddie. It could take months for Myra for find out."

"Oh, no. That's where you're completely wrong," said Eddie. "If the media leaks any info about us, Myra will discover it immediately. She has her eye on every tabloid, every magazine, every blog, and every news station, just _waiting_ for Richie to fuck something up so she can use it as proof that I made a mistake."

 _You see, Eddie?_ Myra would sob at him over the phone. _You SEE? I told you that comedian is no good for you! Please come back home where it's safe, Eddie. I'll take good care of you, I promise!_

Ugh. Eddie's hands were sweating again.

"But Eddie," said Beverly, "wouldn't it be worse for her to find out from some tabloid? Maybe it's better if she hears it from you. If Myra's as clingy as you say she is, you're going to end up discussing it with her anyway."

Eddie let go of his sweaty fork and swabbed it with one of the disinfectant wipes he _always_ kept in the center of the table.

"Great advice, Bev. What about you? When you and Ben got engaged, did you call your ex-husband to tell him all about it?"

"Well—Tom and I aren't on speaking terms. But I did instruct my lawyer to notify _his_ lawyer. As a courtesy."

"Shit, that's a great idea," said Richie. "I've only told Eddie about fifty times that he should get a restraining order."

"Like that would do any good," said Eddie. "Myra's all the way in New York!"

"Yeah, but her fucking voice still manages to reach you. Maybe they can restrain _that_."

"You can't _restrain_ somebody's voice! That violates freedom of speech! It's in the fucking constitution!"

"Like _you_ know dick about the constitution. I let you copy my notes for the big Social Studies test in eighth grade, remember?"

"Which you probably stole from—Oh, come on, Mike! I saw that! You too, Richie! You _cannot_ give people food to the dog. We've all been over this!"

"Fish isn't people food," Richie protested. "Animals eat fish too."

"Not _my_ animal," said Eddie. "Mercedes is a pedigreed dog with a very clean digestive tract and I intend to keep it that way."

"But Eddie," said Mike, looking down at Mercedes, who stared at him from under the table. "How can you say no to that face?"

Very easily. Eddie normally didn't use his phone at the table, since cell phones contained more bacteria than the average toilet, but he couldn't resist showing Mike the health statistics of dogs who ate table scraps vs. dogs who strictly ate dog food.

He suspected Mike was not convinced.

*

Eddie did not sleep well before the Big Day. This was mainly because:

a. He kept having nightmares involving cashews.

b. Ben and Beverly took the guest room and Mike took Eddie's room, so Eddie slept with Richie. This was far from unusual. Eddie often slept with Richie, but every time he woke from a cashew nightmare, Richie put on what he called his Psychologist Voice and asked Eddie all these dumb questions about phallic symbols, which proved how little Richie knew about psychology.

c. Mercedes spent the night with Mike instead of curled up with Eddie and Richie, like she usually did.

d. Eddie was nervous as fuck about the commitment ceremony.

He almost lost his shit at breakfast and found himself wishing, for the first time in a long time, that he had his old inhaler. Which was stupid. He already registered the domestic partnership ages ago. _That_ was the scary part and he was past that!

And then Beverly brought out some icing and wrote **R + E** on the gluten-free cake, which made Eddie start to choke up all over again, but this time he knew it was purely emotions and not anything wrong with his air passages.

Ben appointed himself as the DJ, which meant they were all forced to listen to "As Long As You Love Me" by *NSYNC over and over again while setting up for the party.

"Backstreet Boys, Eddie," Ben told him patiently. "This song is sung by the _Backstreet Boys_. I thought everyone knew that."

Eddie, apparently, was not everyone.

The party decorations were kept to a minimum. No balloons, for obvious reasons, but Beverly put up some tasteful streamers and wound garlands around the archway. Mike decided Mercedes would be the "flower dog" and trained her to carry a tiny basket in her mouth. It was probably the cutest shit Eddie had ever seen.

Everyone got changed into the fancy clothes Beverly brought over. At first Richie seemed sulky over his plain (a.k.a. "boring") outfit, but as soon as he saw Eddie in his suit, he got that certain _look_ , like the one he wore whenever Eddie yelled at people on the phone. It was nice, yet kind of weird. Richie normally didn't _look_ at Eddie like that when other people were around. It came from spending a large portion of his childhood doing everything he possibly could to hide his feelings. Eddie supposed that was a hard habit to break. He could tell Richie held himself back out of instinct, like sometimes he forgot it was _okay_ to show how he felt, but this was clearly not one of those moments.

Eddie would have to ask Beverly to send him some more suits.

After everyone dressed, Bill and Audra arrived with Stan and Patty. This was the part that Eddie worried about the most. Bill was famous and Audra was famous, so they each had their own separate set of stalkers. Eddie knew it was unlikely that his home would become flooded with the paparazzi—he lived in a gated neighborhood, after all—but he still borrowed Stan's bird-watching binoculars to make sure no strangers were lurking around.

He knew he looked like a paranoid idiot. This was intentional, due to Bill, Audra, and Beverly standing together in the same room for the very first time. It was very awkward. Everyone tried not to watch while the two redheads sized each other up, both of them aware of how much they resembled each other, until Patty broke the tension by asking Ben about his latest building project.

Audra quickly relaxed once she noticed that Ben and Beverly were completely into each other. Crisis averted.

"So this is the famed Tozier-Kaspbrak residence," said Stan, eyeing the jumbo bottle of hand sanitizer on the coffee table. "Beverly tells me there's a wardrobe around here that needs to be burned."

"You never said anything about burning my clothes!" Richie told Beverly.

"Let's hope she was joking," said Eddie. "Burning is terrible for the environment. Do you know how many _toxins_ get released into the air when you burn shit?"

"I was joking," said Beverly. "There won't be any bonfires. Richie's wardrobe will be properly recycled, in order to protect the general public, and replaced with a wardrobe of my choosing."

"If you need any help, just ask," said Stan. "I'm always willing to donate to a good cause."

Beverly took Stan and Patty for a tour of Richie's closet, with Richie following behind yelling protests at their backs. Eddie, seeking a saner environment, took Bill and Audra to the garage to show them his prized Thunderbird.

While Audra was admiring the car, Bill surprised Eddie by pulling him into a hug.

"I still can't believe it," said Bill, clapping Eddie on the back. "I've been getting more of my memories back since Richie spilled the news. Older memories. You always came to me for help because Richie wouldn't stop teasing you on the playground when we were little, remember? And now look at you."

"He still fucking teases me," said Eddie.

"You're important. You always were. That part was obvious, even when Richie tried to hide the rest of it." Bill grinned. "So much of our childhood makes a lot more sense in retrospect."

"Yeah, all those mom jokes have a whole new meaning in the right context."

When they returned to the house, they were greeted by yet another boy band song from Ben's endless playlist of classic bubblegum pop. Eddie listened carefully and shouted, "Aha! I can tell the difference now. _This_ is *NSYNC!"

"No, Eddie," said Ben. "It's 98°. But you get points for trying."

"Oh, come on. How many boy band clones _are_ there?"

"I can put together a Powerpoint presentation if you're really interested."

"Oh God, no. Please. Let's get out to the archway and do that ceremony already."

It was incredibly informal, as far as ceremonies went. Everyone gathered in the backyard while Mercedes trotted aimlessly around them, carrying her tiny basket full of flower petals. Mike stood in the center of the archway, looking very official in his dark suit, and gave the speech he'd prepared.

"Losers and family members, we are gathered here today because two of our good friends thought they'd make an important life decision and keep it a secret from the rest of us. We're lucky one of those friends is notoriously bad at keeping his mouth shut. After everything we've been through, it's a relief to have something nice to celebrate for a change. So thank you, Richie, for letting the cat out of the bag, and thank you, Eddie, for having us here. I apologize for any dirt tracked into the house and wish the best of luck to both of you. If either of you wants to say a few words, feel free to do so."

"Okay, yeah, I'd like to say a few things," Richie spoke up. He wore his stage posture as he looked out on their friends gathered on the lawn. Eddie could see his hand flex, as if longing for a microphone. "I've got to say, though, we have a really small crowd today. I haven't had a crowd this small since I first told my fanbase I like dick."

"Boo," Stan cat-called.

"Not a lot of dick fans out there?" Richie continued. "Okay, okay. I can work with that! How about this: does anybody remember having sleepovers as a kid? Rolling out your Ninja Turtles sleeping bag, turning on an R-rated movie after the adults are in bed, waking up the next morning with drool on your pillow. Am I right? Bill and Stan, you guys know what I'm talking about. I don't know if you guys noticed, but I was always making these bullshit excuses to sleep next to Eddie. It was like I thought I would fucking die if Eddie wasn't _right there,_ within breathing distance. And I remember thinking, when I was just a kid, that I wouldn't mind sleeping next to Eddie forever."

He turned away from their friends and faced Eddie, who felt like he had been punched right in the chest with a giant fistful of Feelings.

"I was wrong about a lot of shit when I was a kid," said Richie. "But I was right about that."

Fuck, Eddie did not deserve someone loving him that much. How did people _deal_ with this? He was going to explode into an emotional fireball and shitloads of toxins would poison the environment and also his internal organs were probably going to be incinerated, but it would still leave enough bacteria all over the yard to infect all of his friends—

"Eddie?" said Mike, while everyone else cheered over Richie's speech. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just—" Eddie took a breath. "I think I need some water. It's warm out here."

Ben happened to have an unopened water bottle, which he generously donated to Eddie. Eddie seriously doubted the bottle was BPA-free, but he drank from it anyway. Richie was watching him, probably wondering if Eddie was going to break down and call an ambulance in the next sixty seconds.

"I'm good," Eddie told him. "My throat is _not_ closing up, so don't look at me like that! I, uh, have a few words to say as well." He took another breath, trying not to think of all the L.A. smog in the air. "As all of you know, this is my first domestic partnership, but my second commitment. Of course, the first time around, I was living a lie, so I would hardly call that a commitment, but unfortunately it was real enough in the eyes of the law. Uh, the last time I did anything like this, I was so terrified at what I had done, my throat closed up at the reception during the appetizer course. I always blamed it on the cashew butter I accidentally ingested, but I think anxiety had more to do with it. I—I made a big mistake back then. But this time's not a mistake. It's _right_ this time. And maybe I'm fucking nervous right now and I feel like my chest might actually explode, but that's _okay_ , because I don't regret this. I never will."

That was when Patty asked Stan for a tissue, because holy shit, she was crying.

Oh, God. So was Ben. What the fuck did Eddie _do?_

"Guys wait," Eddie said helplessly. "You don't have to, uh, get all emotional on my behalf! Come on!"

"Way to go, Eds, you fucking sap," said Richie, who was blinking suspiciously fast behind his glasses—the hypocrite.

"How the hell am _I_ a sap?" demanded Eddie. "You're the one going on about your childhood fantasy of sleeping next to me forever! Which, by the way, is probably the sweetest fucking thing I've ever heard, so thank you."

Mike was grinning beneath the archway. "That was beautiful, you guys. I now pronounce you Losers for life."

Which would have sounded incredibly lame from anyone else, but somehow Mike made it work.

*

A week later, Eddie was just leaving the office (after putting in his strenuous eight hours of working a _real_ job) when he discovered three missed calls from Myra and a text that said: _Eddie PLEASE call me. I saw the article and I'm very worried about you!_

Oh, no. She finally _knew._ How the fuck did she know?

And WHAT ARTICLE?

Eddie had been checking the news all week to see if Irma (or one of Audra's numerous stalkers) had spilled the story, but all he found were rumors about Richie ending up on Netflix. And why did Myra say she was worried about him? Did she really think it was _that_ terrible to be in a fully committed relationship with Richie? Like it was something only a crazy person would do?

This was just great. Eddie locked himself into his car, whipped out his phone, and spent the next ten minutes scouring the internet in search of the article Myra mentioned. _Then_ he hit the gas so he could head to the nearest supermarket and grab the latest melodramatic issue of the _National Enquirer_. And there, on Page 9, was a picture of Bill that frightened Eddie almost as much as the story, because the _Enquirer_ had this special talent for obtaining the worst photos. They _always_ had to use the ones that made you look like an angry meth addict who hadn't slept in twelve years.

The headline next to Bill's horrible photo said, _Celebrity Cult: Is This the NEW Scientology?_

According to the article, the Losers all gathered at Eddie and Richie's house because best-selling author William Denbrough had recently formed a cult. The _Enquirer_ speculated that the famous horror writer, in an attempt to overcome writer's block, had turned to "dark rituals" for inspiration. Mike was apparently some sort of cult priest who organized these rituals. And Stan was just _posing_ as a clean-cut accountant from Atlanta. He was actually the one who provided Bill with birds so they could sacrifice them to whatever dark gods they supposedly worshipped. These sacrificial rituals were intended to give Bill visions of potential new horrors for his books, strengthen the careers of all his noteworthy friends, and even allow him to communicate with his deceased brother.

Eddie was wheezing with laughter by the time he finished the story. Only the fucking _Enquirer_ could mistake a wedding for a crazy cult ceremony. _This_ was the article that had Myra so worried? It was absurd, even for her.

She would probably worry herself sick if he didn't call her, though.

Just as he expected, Myra picked up on the first ring. "Eddie, you _need_ to get out of there!" she cried. "I _knew_ L.A. would be bad for you! It's a cesspool of weird, sick people and now they've got you in their clutches!"

"Myra, calm down. It's only an _Enquirer_ article! Do you actually _believe_ something the _Enquirer_ wrote?"

"Well... the part about your writer friend summoning his brother's ghost might be a little far-fetched," Myra slowly admitted. "But there _are_ cults out there! Hollywood is filled with them! Oh, Eddie, I can't _handle_ the thought of you joining a cult. Please tell me it's not true!"

"Of course I'm not part of a cult. Don't be ridiculous!"

"Then why does the _National Enquirer_ think you are? All those people were gathered at _that comedian's_ house for a reason!"

"Myra, you know his name is—ugh, never mind. All right. There _is_ a reason we were gathered together, but it wasn't to sacrifice birds or whatever bullshit the _Enquirer_ made up. The truth is, uh—I got married again. Not married _technically,_ but I went for the next best thing. I'm in a domestic partnership now. With Richie. You know, _that comedian_."

Beverly was right. It did feel better just to tell Myra himself.

Eddie could hear Myra on the phone, making some kind of shocked noise, so he plowed ahead before she could gather her senses and start shouting at him.

" _That's_ why all my friends were gathered at my house last week! We were having a private commitment ceremony—emphasis on _private_. I wasn't planning to tell you any of this, Myra, but I feel like I have no choice now. I mean, it's either that, or let you believe I joined a cult!"

"Eddie, I—"

"So there it is!" he cut in. "The big reveal! I know you don't approve of Richie and you think I'm throwing my life away, but this is what I want, Myra. I want this for as long as it lasts, which is hopefully forever! So please stop hoping I'm going to leave Richie, because it is never, ever going to happen."

He promptly hung up before Myra could get another word in.

But of course she responded a minute later with the following message:

_All I can say is I'm very disappointed in you._

Disappointed, she said. She was _disappointed._ Who was she, his mother?

Wait, no. Eddie did _not_ want to answer that question.

He tossed the _Enquirer_ into the passenger's seat (instead of the trash, where it really belonged) and typed out a message to Richie:

_Stopping at pet store then bringing home dinner. Text me your order. NO pizza. Check out the Enquirer if you want a good laugh._

By the time Eddie got home, Richie was on the phone with Stan, who was naturally very pissed about the article.

"Stan, you know the _Enquirer's_ a fucking joke. _They're_ the ones who should be on Netflix," Richie was saying. "No one who even vaguely knows you is going to believe that _you_ slaughter birds in your spare time. I don't know _how_ they found out about your bird obsession! Maybe they found an old yearbook. Weren't you part of some weirdass club when we were kids? Okay, I—I get it, Stan. I'll talk to my publicist about issuing a statement, I fucking swear. Keep your sweater vest on, dude. It could be worse."

"Yeah, have you seen that picture of Bill?" said Eddie, setting their veggie-based takeout orders on the dining room table.

"Eddie says, have you seen Bill's picture?" Richie told Stan. "He looks like a child molester who got hit with a truck. If Bill needs inspiration for his next horror story, it's staring him right in the fucking face. Yeah, Eddie's right here. I'll put him on for you."

Richie passed his phone to Eddie, which was fucking gross because cell phones were crawling with _so_ much bacteria, but Eddie just glared and took it.

"Hi, Stan," said Eddie. "Richie's right, it's not as bad as it could be. Remember that dumb story they did on _me_ a while back?"

"The one where they claimed you married Myra because you were trying to raise your mom from the dead?" said Stan.

"Yeah, it was fucking ridiculous. But I ended up laughing at it. There was really nothing else I could do."

"Patty thinks the article is one of the funniest things she's ever read. Maybe she's right. Maybe you're _all_ right. It's just hard to laugh when you've been misrepresented on such an outrageous level."

"Only idiots believe the _Enquirer_ , Stan. Anyone with a brain will realize that Bill's not summoning horror-visions in our backyard. And if some stranger out there thinks you sacrifice your bird friends for a non-existent cult, then so what? They don't know you! And as soon as they throw their shitty magazine in the trash, they won't even remember your name."

"I can't believe _I'm_ getting a pep talk from Eddie Kaspbrak," said Stan. "But thanks. I needed it. Tell Richie he'd better make that statement a good one."

It turned out Richie had _two_ statements he needed to make. By the end of the night, his manager and his publicist were both calling him, demanding to know why there was a sudden onslaught of rumors about Richie getting married.

Damn. Myra sure worked fast. She must have blabbed it to half of New York.

As soon as Richie got off the phone, he said, "Shit. You were right about the maid. She's totally spying on us."

"Actually, no. The rumors are my fault," said Eddie. "I told Myra."

"After all that secrecy, you fucking _told_ her?"

"I had to! She kept trying to call me while I was at work because she believed that stupid cult story! So when I called her back, I just completely lost it and blurted the whole truth out. I guess it doesn't matter. You never wanted to keep it secret in the first place."

"I also didn't want my manager yelling at me because the internet is exploding with rumors," said Richie. "But I guess we can release a 2-in-1 statement: Hey everybody, the marriage rumors are halfway true. Domestic partnerships are also a thing. By the way, my friend Stanley Uris is not a bird murderer!"

"Better mention that none of us has ever summoned a demon. At least not on fucking _purpose_."

Sometimes Eddie could not believe how crazy his life had become, and that wasn't even counting his battle with an extra-terrestrial, shape-shifting sewer monster. He meant every single word he told Myra, though. He _wanted_ this, no matter how crazy things got. Maybe that made him insane, but if achieving happiness meant living with batshit stories about cults and bird rituals, then he was going to take it.

And maybe one of these days, he might actually be brave enough to get married again for real.

Just as long as Ben wasn't the DJ.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Ben. So misunderstood.


End file.
